


Oblivion in its Nest

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dreams, Gen, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, M/M, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 06:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16258214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Six college students rent out an absurdly cheap house not too far from campus and call it good luck.  So what if it's drafty, and the water heater goes out sometimes, and a dead man frequently visits one of them in his dreams?  Beggars can't be choosers.





	Oblivion in its Nest

There is a perfectly good reason for why Taeyong and his five future roommates are packed into a car at 2:42 am on a warm July evening en route to break into their apartment for next year.

“Because I wanna see it!” Ten insisted an hour ago through a haze of smoke and bad decisions.  

And that is it, really.  See, Taeyong and Ten were both absent for the tour of the apartment at the end of the semester.  But they were so desperate for a place to live that they didn’t care how shitty the house was as long as it was affordable and inhabitable.

So that’s why Taeyong, Johnny, Jaehyun, Ten, Sicheng, and Johnny’s grad student friend Taeil are crammed into Johnny’s shitty Hyundai.  Johnny is driving, of course, with Taeil sitting shotgun. That leaves Sicheng wedged between Jaehyun and Ten in the back seat.  And Taeyong…

“Dude, your ass is so bony I think I’m bruising.”

Taeyong has the privilege of sitting square on Jaehyun’s lap and nearly tumbling over on top of Sicheng every time Johnny takes a turn too hard.  Which he seems to be doing _a lot_ this morning.

“Stop driving like a jackass,” Jaehyun continues, this time talking to Johnny.  “The last thing we want is to attract attention.”

“Ten should have done this,” Taeyong whines, “Ten is smaller than me.”

“You lost no nose goes,” Ten points out, sagely tapping his own honker.  “Them’s the rules.”

Taeyong pouts for show.  Because if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really mind.  So what if he had a crush on Jaehyun the first time they met? Everyone does.  He’s handsome, and sweet, and the way he holds Taeyong around the waist so he doesn’t fall over and crush Sicheng is really nice.  Even if Taeyong is repaying the favor by bearing down with his ass bones like he’s trying to skewer Jaehyun’s thigh.

Just because Taeyong got over that crush doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the Jaehyun-shaped perks life throws at him every once in a while.

The apartment sits about a mile off campus.  Not a terrible trek, and absolutely worth it at the price. But it’s not like they could be choosey in the first place – it was this house or dorm life.

Taeyong thinks of the noise, the communal showers, the randomly selected roommates, the fire alarm with a chance of going off every morning at 7:06, the _floor meetings_ – and shudders.  Jaehyun tightens his grip in steadfast reassurance.  Handsome, charming, firm reassurance.

About a block away from the apartment, Johnny kills the lights ( _for stealth_ , he explains, even though it’s less stealthy and more fucking stupid).  The neighborhood is old and fairly empty this time of the year, since most of the houses are similar poorly-maintained student apartments.  They park a few houses down and immediately make too much noise the second they’re on the sidewalk.

Shitty phone flashlights in hand, they make their way to the house they’ll be calling home for two semesters.  Ten is shooting questions off at rapid fire, but Taeyong is content to quietly take in the facade of the building in the dim moonlight.  It’s overgrown with vines and there’s some nasty looking mossy green stain trailing down from all the windows, but it looks sturdy enough.  Nothing important seems to be falling off, at least.

Breaking in is easy thanks to Ten’s urban exploration hobby.  They manage to get one of the living room windows along the side of the house jimmied open, and then it’s just a matter of everyone climbing in without either alerting the cops or breaking a shin.

(They all make it, but just barely.)

The house might not be nice to look at, but it’s big, big enough that Johnny mock-whispers _perfect for a par-tay_ in Ten’s ear.  Ten giggles and shushes him like he doesn’t want someone outside to hear.

“Apparently, this place was home to a pretty big frat,” Taeil remarks.

“Like two years ago,” Jaehyun adds.  “It’s the one that lives in that tiny house behind the gas station just off campus now.”

“Why’d they leave?”  Ten asks. “This place seems perfect for a frat and their new place is a dump.”

“The realtor said they were unhappy with getting none of their security deposit back,” Taeil explains.

“Yeah, she said that shit just like, breaks a lot,” Johnny adds.

“Oh great,” Taeyong says with forced cheer,” Nothing I love more than broken shit.”

“Hey, it’s not like we’re a frat,” Ten points out.  “We’re all old men now. Seasoned seniors.”

Jaehyun nods.  “We’ll treat her kindly.”

“There’s no way we’re not throwing at least one party though,” Johnny says, nearly begging.

“We’ll jump off that bridge when we get to it,” Jaehyun promises.

“Let’s get a move on, boys,” Taeil waves his arms like he’s trying to herd a small group of kindergartners on a field trip.  “I don’t feel like getting caught breaking and entering tonight.”

Ten immediately takes off into the dark with his cell phone lighting the way, and a stampede of slightly baked giggly boys follow in his wake.  Taeyong takes up the rear, but then realizes–

“Sicheng!” he calls out, turning to see Sicheng still standing in the middle of the room.  In the low light, Taeyong can barely make out the rigid set of his face as he gazes almost vacantly at the ceiling.

Taeyong looks up, expecting to see a crack in the plaster, or maybe a huge spider.  All he sees is a dusty ceiling fan nestled in the darkness.

“Sicheng,” he tries again, softer this time, and that seems to snap Sicheng out of his stupor.  He blinks once, twice, looks back down, and smiles like they’re sharing a joke.

“Coming,” he says, rushing up to Taeyong’s side and pulling him after the others.

-

The kitchen looks like it was last furnished in the late 60s and the shower in the downstairs bathroom is literally too small for Johnny to use properly, but otherwise there’s nothing objectionable on the first floor.  Well, other than the ugly carpet in the living room. But Taeyong seems to be the only one who has a problem with that.

The basement is a whole different story.  Down here, the solitary naked bulb casts long shadows over the crumbling drywall.  There’s a coal furnace, ancient and defunct. Against one wall leans a handful of planks and a shovel.  What looks like a hoe with the actual hoeing part broken off is making a lovely tripping hazard center piece in the middle of the floor.

In the low light, Ten looks pained.

“I take it there’s a garden?” Taeyong asks.

“There’s a shitty 12x12 back yard overgrown with weeds,” Johnny says.  And that’s enough of the basement for a lifetime.

On the second floor, there’s just enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own room to themselves.  Five of the rooms are small, but have plenty of space for one boy each. The sixth bedroom, the master bedroom, triggers something deep inside of Taeyong he never knew existed, something that makes him want to watch the Home and Garden channel and pick out drapery and study paint swatches.

“Dibs!” he hollers, startling everyone into an overdramatic fit of screaming and hushing that devolves into squealing and slapping at each other.  He ignores their play fighting as he takes in the room before him. There’s a bed frame, mattressless like all the others, but grander. It matches the rest of the furniture in the room, a large armoire, a low dresser with a massive mirror mounted on the back, an oak desk.  The bed is framed on either side by sturdy nightstands. It even has its own bathroom.

He loves it.

“Taeil-hyung should get first dibs,” Jaehyun points out after everyone has mostly calmed down.  “Since he’s the oldest.”

“No thanks,” Taeil says.  There’s something close to sourness on his face when he says, “Taeyong can have it.  I’d rather have one of the rooms on the other side of the house. More daylight.”

 _His loss_ , Taeyong thinks.

Back in the empty living room, they sit on the floor and Taeil gets Ten and Taeyong caught up on what they missed during the actual tour.  Taeyong hears some things that are probably important – the water heater sometimes gives out for a few hours at a time, the house is draftier than a skirt on a windy day, the attic hatchway in the closet of the master bedroom is almost impossible to open – but he finds himself distracted.

It’s the cold that gets his attention first.  One moment he’s scratching at the uncomfortable sweat-slicked back of his neck, wondering why this spring is so muggy compared to the last, and in the next he feels like he’s standing in front of a wide open freezer.

Everyone else feels it, too.  Sicheng, as skinny as he is, looks visibly uncomfortable.  When he starts rubbing his arms, Taeyong begins to feel the hairs on his own neck standing up.  An awkward full-body shudder wracks Jaehyun’s frame, but he seems to brush it off. Ten sniffles like his nose is running.

Taeyong is about to whisper something about the cold to Taeil when a blur of movement catches his eye.  A clock on the wall, fake wood and no longer ticking, jerks and swings as if one of the nails holding it in place has fallen.  It clatters to the floor with a thud that sounds far too loud for such a small thing.

It startles the shit out of Taeyong but before he can gauge anyone else’s reaction, a door slams upstairs, and then another.  Something in the bathroom rattles ominously, and the walls themselves seem to groan under some unknown strain.

For a moment, Taeyong is convinced the roof is going to collapse on their heads.  Fight or flight instincts have him rising to his feet when a sudden stillness slithers through the house like a hush.

“Whoa,” Johnny grins, unphased and not entirely unlike an idiot.  “It _is_ drafty in here.”

Sicheng nods with an absurd seriousness.  Taeyong shares another heavy look with Taeil and starts to think that maybe the worst dorm on campus is better than a house that may or may not literally fall down around them.

“Tour over!” Johnny announces, rising to his feet.

Ten get up after him.  “Let’s just use the front door.  Should be fine as long as we remember to lock it.”

“ _If_  the front door will open,” Taeil mumbles under his breath.

A click, and a creak.

“Door’s open!” Johnny hollers triumphantly.  Ten falls against him, giggling and shushing him as they pour out.  Jaehyun wraps an arm around Sicheng’s shoulders and drags him after them, leaving Taeyong and Taeil sanding in the living room.  

With just the two of them, the house suddenly feels still.  It feels unfriendly. Taeyong wants to wipe away some of the dust before he leaves, straighten out the careless angles of the few pieces of furniture.  He wants to hang the clock back up. He spares a quick glance to where it’s lying face down on the floor, plastic backing exposed to show an empty battery slot.  He looks back at its place on the wall and realizes, with some annoyance directed at the agency, that it was covering up an unsightly hole that seems to have crumbled back open thanks to a really shitty spackling job.

“It’ll be less weird once we move in,” Taeil assures him, like he’s known Taeyong for three hours and can already read his mind.  “Empty houses feel unwelcoming no matter what.”

Taeyong finds himself smiling easily.  He doesn’t know Taeil very well, but he thinks he won’t mind living with him.  “Yeah.”

Johnny honks outside.  A chorus of laughter picks up, and then some shushing, and then Ten starts yelling something, followed by _more_ shushing.

“He’s going to be a handful,” Taeil says, heading out the door, “Isn’t he?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Taeyong follows him close behind.  When he reaches for the door handle to pull it closed, it slams shut before he can touch it.

“Fuck!” he squeaks, snatching his hand away.  He wiggles his fingers like he’s thankful they’re all still attached.

“That draft is gonna be annoying,” Taeil says, looking back at him.

Taeyong scowls at the door.  It feels like the house itself just kicked him out.

-

The semester ends.  Taeyong goes home, and works his shitty summer job at an an amusement park.  He listens to some good music, goes to some good shows. He kisses some boys, none of them Jaehyun.

… Okay, so he kisses Jaehyun _once_ , but it doesn’t really count because it’s done on a dare and they both laugh through it. It helps him realize he really is over his crush, and living with Jaehyun won’t be awkward.

That’s just about the only time he thinks about the apartment all summer, until he gets a letter from the agency telling him that he’s free to move in as early as a month before the semester begins.  A day later, he gets added to a group chat with everyone from the apartment. Taeil is moving in on the first day, but nobody else is for at least a week. Taeil responds with a dejected frowny face.

Taeyong thinks of Taeil all alone in that drafty house for a week and decides he could do with leaving his job a little earlier than expected.

-

“I’m gonna die,” Taeil wheezes, coughing with his tongue out as Taeyong laughs at him from out of range of the dust cloud he just kicked up.

“I told you, we’re better off vacuuming.  There’s too much of it to use a duster, you’re just pushing it around the room.”

Taeil thumps his chest a few times.  “Alrighty. If you want to be the housemaid, I won’t stop you.”

“I didn’t say _I_ would do it,” Taeyong protests.  “This is _your_ bedroom!”

It turns out the apartment has been empty for a full two years now – the fraternity Taeil mentioned was the last group to live in it.  Taeyong is a journalism student, and he prides himself on his ability to dig. He managed to coax the information from the man at the realty office when he went in to pick up his key.

 

(“They keep talking about tearing it down,” he had mentioned as he fished around for the envelope with _LEE TAEYONG_ etched across it in a messy scrawl.  “Things tend to break a lot, but the agency wants to get their money’s worth.”

Taeyong had raised an eyebrow.

“But, uh, I’m sure you’ll find it perfect for your needs,” he added quickly, shoving the envelope under Taeyong’s nose.)

 

That would explain the dust and cobwebs draped like gossamer over every surface, even the vertical ones.  So they throw all the windows open and get to cleaning before Ten and Johnny can move in and draw minimalistic penises in the dust all over the house.

Taeil is easy to get along with.  He treats Taeyong to dinner that night, claiming it’s his duty as the oldest to make sure Taeyong gets a good meal into him.  And then, when they arrive home, the’re forced to figure out the night’s sleeping arrangements.

The mattress Taeyong’s grandma gifted him to fit the queen size frame in the master bedroom is sitting at his parents home, awaiting the moving truck he and Jaehyun rented out to share.  So he and Taeil decide that there’s no new roommate bonding experience quite like sharing a bed.

Although _bed_ is generous.  They don’t bother to drag Taeil’s mattress upstairs yet, opting instead to leave it in the middle of the living room floor for now.  To their credit, they at least put sheets on it.

There’s a nervous apprehension buzzing behind Taeyong’s ribcage as he settles under the covers.  Maybe it’s because he’s half-cuddling with a guy he barely knows, or because his senior year of college is fast approaching, or because this is his first apartment on his own, and it still smells cold and stale.

Next to him, Taeil’s breathing is soft and even.  The house is so quiet, so deafeningly still, that Taeyong can count each inhale.  He gets to one-hundred and six before his eyes become too heavy to keep open.

To his surprise, he sleeps like a baby.

-

A full week passes before Johnny and Ten move in.

All of their belongings fit about as well in his Hyundai as six grown men did, but the four of them make quick work of shuffling all their shit inside and dumping it in a pile in the living room.  Neither of them have a mattress yet, either, and Taeyong doesn’t even want to think about all four of them piling into Taeil’s bed. He’ll just sleep on the couch tonight, thanks.

“Good job, team,” Johnny says, wiping his brow  once the last box is inside. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Taeil flops down on the squeaky couch and rubs forlornly at his belly.  “Taeyongie and I haven’t done much grocery shopping yet.”

“Let’s just get takeout,” Taeyong suggests, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.  “I know a noodle place in walking distance. Give me your orders and I’ll call them on the way.”

A little over a half hour later, Taeyong is strolling back home in the rapidly dimming evening light, one bag in each hand.  His body slopes to the left a little as he strides down the sidewalk thanks to Johnny’s absolutely massive order that’s threatening to drag Taeyong down to the pavement like an anchor.

The apartment sits almost perfectly at the apex of a T-intersection.  A few blocks down the adjacent street, Taeyong takes in the sight of it.  For the most part, it blends in with the neighborhood of equally ugly low-rent student homes.  

Movement catches his eye – Ten passing by the large kitchen window.  Taeyong can also see Taeil sitting at the desk in front of his window, typing away at his laptop.

“Taeilie-hyung!” Taeyong shouts in a singsong voice as he starts skipping the remaining block home.  Taeil glances out the open window and smiles when he sees Taeyong waving a plastic bag full of takeout over his head.

Taeil is already up and out of his seat when it happens, and it has Taeyong skidding to an awkward halt.  A light turns on, but not just any light – it’s in the attic. Taeyong looks up into the hazy yellowed window without seeing much, until a silhouette blocks out the bulb.  He catches the black hair, the way a man leans against the windowsill with his chin resting on his palm.

“Food time,” he yells, waving the takeout bag over his head since Johnny probably can’t hear him with the window shut tight.  Who knows when the attic was last aired out. It probably smells like death up there.

Taeyong’s stomach gurgles and he power walks the rest of the way to the porch, only to be greeted with an overexcited Johnny snatching the bags out of his hands.

“Whoa,” Taeyong stands stunned on the porch as his food gets whisked into the apartment.  “You got down here quick.”

“Of course I did,” Johnny said, already walking away.  “I’m starving.”

"So how did you get into the attic?" Taeyong yells after him.

"I didn't," is Johnny's helpful reply.

"What-" Taeyong is in the middle of taking a step back, just far enough to stand on the sidewalk and look up at the attic.  Just out of curiosity – just to see. But as his stomach growls again, the door starts swinging shut in front of him.  He lunges forward before it can slam and scrambles inside.

The tremble in his hands, he attributes to hunger.

-

It’s only three more days before Jaehyun shows up with a moving truck full of furniture he and Taeyong managed to scrounge up over the summer.   It takes the entire day to unload it – he and Jaehyun brought a whole lot of shit that they probably won’t need. But by sundown, most of the empty spaces in the apartment are filled.  A coffee table, a TV stand, a bookshelf, and, most importantly, Taeyong’s mattress.

The room finally feels like _his_ as he lies in the middle of the bed, arms and legs thrown out in an ungainly sprawl.  It’s still early by his standards – barely 11:30, but the day’s activity has him beat.  Downstairs, someone is watching a movie. Taeyong can smell popcorn and hear Johnny laughing.  In his room, Taeil is typing away on his laptop. The ambient noise wraps around Taeyong like a lullaby.

He closes his eyes –

 

.

.

.

 

– and reawakens into a dream in which the room is on fire.

At least, that’s what it looks like.  The bedroom, _his_ bedroom, is painted in streaks of yellow and orange that are dulled by the smoke hanging heavy in the air.  It takes his disoriented brain a moment to realize that the flames are simply light reflecting through the stained glass shades of the lamps on each bedside table.  Taeyong rolls his head from one side to the other and thinks, _I don’t remember buying new lamps._

He turns his eyes upward and sees nothing but the haze of smoke.  The ceiling fan is pointedly missing, but since he seems to have come across some tacky antique lamps somewhere, Taeyong figure’s that’s quite alright.

There’s a weight that feels almost like contentedness in his bones as he lies under the covers, so he has no real motivation to get up.  Besides, it’s dark outside, and Taeyong has nowhere to be in the morning.

Or maybe, he has nowhere to be _ever_.  Time feels distant here, like it takes twenty minutes just to roll over onto his stomach.  He presses his face into the pillow and inhales. It smells like earthy vanilla, and Taeyong savors the scent before it hits him.

Cigars.

He doesn’t smoke cigars.

He’s huffing the pillowcase like a white mom in a laundry detergent commercial when he hears a clicking sound coming from somewhere close to him.  Before he can wade through the molasses of lazy time to turn towards the noise, a needling prickle dances across his naked shoulder.

It’s more shock than pain that has him scrambling upright and brushing at his shoulder like he’s trying to swat away a spider.  But his fingers come back ashy and grey, and it becomes apparent that he wasn’t bitten by anything when he looks up to see the smoldering orange tip of a cigar.

A cigar that happens to be attached to a person.

Taeyong has no idea what business this man has showing up in his dreams, because he’s for sure never seen him before.  He’s dressed kind of like the wait staff at Taeyong’s least favorite restaurant in town – a simple white shirt, black slacks ensemble.  The most pointed difference are the suspenders hanging at his hips.

His long legs are folded awkwardly underneath himself, like he’s still growing into them, but he’s no kid.  Taeyong takes in the broad shoulders, the large hands. His eyes are sharp and almost unkind. Or maybe he only seems that way because he just used Taeyong as an ash tray.

Taeyong would really love to tell him off for that.  But the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “You shouldn’t smoke in bed.  I mean, you probably shouldn’t smoke at all, but smoking in bed is a fire hazard.”

The man gives him a flat look at takes a puff as if to say, _what are you going to do about it?_  The cigar looks strange between his lips.  Taeyong is used to the skinny sorts with the plastic filters, not the fat Al Capone archetype.  It even has a little band wrapped around it that boasts the manufacturer. Authentic.

The man seems to interpret Taeyong’s curiosity as a craving and offers out the cigar for a drag.  Taeyong doesn’t smoke, not even in dreams, so he politely declines.

A knocking catches their attention.  Taeyong whips his head around to look at the bedroom door, but the noise resonates from far beyond it.  The front door, he assumes. The man keeps his eyes on Taeyong for a moment of tense contemplation, smoking silently as his huge dark eyes bore into Taeyong.  And then, without a word, he crawls off the bed, long legs unfolding from beneath him. Taeyong watches him go, unsure if he should follow or not.

The farther the man’s footsteps recede into the hall, the more the comfortable lethargy from before dissolves.  The knocking is insistent now – almost angry. Taeyong can’t hear the man’s footsteps, but he can hear the loose floorboard on the top step squeaking.  It’s a sound he’s already used to after living here for two weeks, a sound that rings out even over the pounding on the door.

There’s an itchy sort of dread worming its way under Taeyong’s skin, the kind that makes him want to curl up and kick his legs and rip his hair out at the roots.  He burrows under the covers and tries to clog his senses with the smell of cigars. The room feels ablaze – surely this counts as a nightmare now.

It’s only when a horrible cracking sound breaches the silence that he wakes up.

The contrast hits hard.  His room feels too blue under the dawn reaching across the sky outside.  But according to the time on his phone's lock screen, he still has almost an hour before his usual alarm is due to go off.  So, with his mind too fuzzy to grasp the unraveling ends of the dream, he turns over onto his stomach and sinks into the bed.

There are birds singing outside, and Johnny is snoring in the room next door.  Taeyong wiggles his cold nose and drags in a deep breath of air. It sits at the back of his throat and tastes like vanilla.  A soft thumping comes from above him – maybe a tree branch knocking against the roof at the urging of the wind – and he falls back asleep thinking of cigars.

-

Two days later, Taeyong buys a small fire extinguisher.

It’s a bit fitting that he hears the piercing shriek of the fire alarm before he even sets foot in the house.  There’s an unmistakable smell of something burning wafting through the warm late-summer air. But it’s not really the oh-shit-my-house-is-on-fire kind of burning.  It has a distinctly sweeter smell to it. There’s no tinge of sweetness, however, in Ten’s voice.

“Goddammit, this oven _will not_ fucking cooperate!  I swear it’s jacking the heat up of its own volition!”

Inching closer to the kitchen door, Taeyong peers through the smoke at Ten throwing a baking tray down on the stove top like he’s trying to inflict physical harm.  Behind him, Jaehyun waves a notebook in front of the still-screaming fire alarm in an attempt to calm it down.

Ten is a chemistry major.  Technically he is some specialized branch of chemistry that Taeyong really ought to make an effort to remember.  The point is that Ten has had a passion for taking a bunch of compounds and mushing them all together since he made his first pan of brownies in fifth grade.  The logical progression, of course, would be to go into baking.

Ten is many things.  Among them, illogical.

“Does this mean no cookies?” Taeyong shouts over the alarm.  Or at least, he means to. Jaehyun gets it to shut up a millisecond before he opens his mouth, so he just screams into the sudden uncomfortable void of sound.

“Nice to see you came prepared,” Jaehyun says, shaking out his tired arm.  It’s only then that Taeyong realizes he’s clutching the fire extinguisher like a demure schoolgirl with her books.

“It’s not like I expected Ten to start an oven fire,” he says.  “It’s just – in case. It’s safety code. All houses are supposed to have them.”

“Everything that’s wrong with this house,” Ten practically shouts, trying to scrub burnt batter off the smoking baking sheet, “The cold tap water, and the defective oven, and that one step near the top landing that sounds like it’s farting when you put too much pressure on it, and you decide to start with the fire extinguisher.”

Taeyong, still cradling the tank like a protective mother, only shrugs.

**Author's Note:**

> BOOOO EXPOSITION i promise more interesting things will start happening soon


End file.
